Day 20 of 200: Do Not Come & Knock on My Door

I was in the middle of lunch (French toast and finishing Megan Abbott’s good but too drawn out for me Give Me Your Hand) when suddenly there came a tapping, as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my door.

I got up, checking to see if I had missed a text from someone announcing their impending arrival. I did not. I stooped to peer out the peephole, which is about nipple height and annoying, to find a random dude I did not know on the stoop. For a second I thought about opening the door to see what he wanted, but then I didn’t. I didn’t invite this dude over. I didn’t know who he was, and if it was important there were other ways to contact me.

Of course, now I have guilt and I don’t know why. Is it a female-need-to-please thing? A Minnesota-nice thing? A oh-my-god-I’m-a-real-deal-agoraphobic-thing?

Then I remind myself I’m a single woman who lives alone and I don’t have to answer the door to anyone, and maybe ax-murders have gotten really polite with their door knocking so it was smart to ignore that guy.